


Major League

by JJK



Series: Coach Steve [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Baseball, Date Night, Embedded Images, Fluff, Innuendo, Love Confessions, M/M, Mechanic Bucky Barnes, and breakfast, baseball player steve rogers, coach steve rogers, lots more puns!, sex references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24204157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJK/pseuds/JJK
Summary: A few weeks after their accidental date in Little League, Bucky and Steve go and watch a Yankees game, and Bucky finally gets to see Steve's apartment.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Coach Steve [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746943
Comments: 81
Kudos: 458





	Major League

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fadefilter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadefilter/gifts).



> More Coach Steve, more beautiful art, and more terrible baseball puns! I highly reccomend reading part one (Little League), although it's not completely necessary. 
> 
> Thank you so much to [@Fadefilter](https://twitter.com/fadefilter) for the idea and the amazing artwork <3

Steve shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot as he waited outside of Gate 6. He kept his hat pulled down low over his face and scanned the crowds of people swarming from the subway station for any signs of Bucky. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d visited the stadium on his own; he normally had a group of friends to hide behind, and standing out here by himself, he felt very exposed. But Bucky had wanted to come and watch a game and Steve wasn’t about to say no.

He was still finding it hard to believe that Bucky genuinely seemed to like him. Steve had fallen for Bucky pretty much the first time he’d come to collect Isaac after a game, and although Steve was fairly certain it hadn’t been a coincidence that Bucky had taken over from Isaac’s mom in picking him up from every practise and match after that – Steve couldn’t be sure it wasn’t anything other than a change in schedule. It hadn’t been until their accidental date at the batting cages that Steve had known for sure that there’d been more to their flirting than idle banter.

Bucky was charming, intelligent, gorgeous and – walking towards him with a Yankees cap slung backwards over his head and a wide smile plastered on his face. He’d donned a varsity style bomber jacket over a deep red t-shirt and slim dark jeans. His hair was loose, brushing his shoulders in soft waves, with delicate strands tucked back behind his ears. Steve never quite seemed to remember how beautiful Bucky was and he was bowled over by the sight of him every time.

“Hiya, Steve.” Bucky grinned and instantly arched up for a kiss.

“Hey, Buck. Nice hat.” Steve fell into their usual pattern of playfully mocking each other to mask the sudden uptick in his heart rate.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I didn’t want to get murdered on the subway by a horde of angry Yankees fans, thought it was the best way to blend in.”

“Still, didn’t think you’d ever stoop to buy one.”

“Hardly.” He snorted. “You left this at my place last weekend. Like I’d ever _pay money_ to the Evil Empire.” He scoffed under his breath. 

Steve wasn’t sure why, but knowing it was his cap that Bucky was wearing, made it all the more attractive. “Fine, I get it. You’re not a fan.” He laughed and slung his arm around Bucky’s shoulder, suddenly not feeling as nervous anymore.

“Shush! Keep your voice down!” Bucky said over dramatically. “I don’t want anyone to kick me out for being an imposter.”

Steve’s heart swelled with affection. “Stealth mode, then.” He whispered back with a wide grin and started steering Bucky in the direction of the entrance. They’d left it late enough that most people were already seated inside the stadium and the queue moved quickly until they were walking underneath the giant ‘Yankee Stadium’ sign lettered in gold atop the colosseum like structure; even after all this time, it still gave Steve a thrill.

Technically, they could have used the private entrance, but Steve always felt that part of the proper match experience was eavesdropping on the fans and their heated debates and match predictions on the subway ride and in the queue. Even as a player Steve had hated using the private entrance. He’d felt immensely guilty every time he’d driven past the crowds of fans waiting in vain to get an autograph; being hidden behind tinted glass, not even able to wave at them made Steve feel horribly cut off and elitist. Queueing outside the old stadium with his ma as a kid, waiting to catch the players as they had to cross the street to get to their car park was a fond memory; he’d even been lucky enough to snag a few signed baseball cards that way, and it was one of the reasons he’d been so enthusiastic about the sport. It was why he’d always made a point of stopping to sign autographs and pose for photos wherever he could; though he hoped that no one would recognise him today. He wasn’t too worried, his cap and beard usually kept him anonymous and his choice of a NASA cap could only help - usually no one ever recognised him without context. It wasn’t that he minded being recognised; just that Steve was sure he’d never hear the end of it from Bucky if someone stopped him for an autograph.

Though it seemed like Bucky had other pressing concerns of his own.

“I feel like a traitor.” Bucky mumbled as they crossed the threshold. “Like I’m cheating on the Reds, or _Brooklyn_ , or something.”

Steve laughed and gave Bucky’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m sure you won’t spontaneously combust.” The security guards waved them through after they stripped off their jackets and walked through the metal detectors, and Steve slung his arm back across Bucky’s shoulders. “You’ve really never been here before?”

“Nope.” Bucky sounded somewhat proud of that fact; even though he was wearing one of Steve’s Yankees caps, and had his arm tucked around the waist of a former Yankees player.

“How long have you lived in New York now?” Steve pressed. “Pretty sure that’s some sort of sacrilege.” Bucky just jabbed him in the ribs.

But when they stepped through into the Great Hall, Bucky’s jaw slackened and he looked suitably impressed. Giant posters of former players hung along the walls, towering above everyone milling below, and light flooded in from the tall windows and lofty glass ceiling. If he was being honest, Steve still preferred the old stadium, mainly for nostalgic reasons, but the new one had a special place in his heart. He let Bucky take it all in, glad that Bucky appreciated the aesthetics of the place if nothing else.

“Where are you?” Bucky asked with his head lifted to examine the posters with interest.

Steve had to admit, it was immensely flattering that Bucky had immediately assumed Steve was up there with the legends, but he was far too embarrassed to let Bucky see his banner; in fact, he’d carefully planned their route to avoid walking beneath it. Steve was never going to feel like he belonged up there with the likes of Babe Ruth and Joe DiMaggio. He’d only played for two seasons, for goodness sake. Just because they happened to win the world series in each of those years, and because Steve had somehow managed to set a new record for most home runs in a season was just a fluke, that was all. 

“Around the other side.” He replied under his breath before ushering Bucky over to a hot dog stand that lay in the other direction.

“Can we see it on the way out? I was going to take a selfie.”

“What, the real thing not good enough?” Steve laughed.

Bucky gave a dramatic sigh and pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “I guess so.” He tucked his head against Steve’s shoulder and didn’t bring it up again. He might have teased Steve relentlessly every chance he got; but he always stopped before Steve ever got genuinely embarrassed or upset by it, for which Steve could never thank him enough.

Steve made sure his NASA cap was pulled low over his face as they loaded up with hot dogs, fries and beer, and tried to avoid direct eye contact with anyone as they worked their way up the endless ramps towards the Grandstand Level.

“How far back are we sitting?” Bucky sounded dubious as they neared the top of the last ramp. Steve didn’t answer, he just made his way out of the tunnelled walkway and over to the railing, letting the view speak for itself. It was a spectacular vantage point, looking out from behind the third baseline across the entire baseball field and stadium. The giant scoreboard and Yankees Stadium sign were to their ten o’clock, standing out against a blue sky peppered with wisps of clouds that would make for a beautiful sunset later.

“Wow.” Bucky stated, sounding impressed until he added, “right at the back. Do you get a better view point up here, then, or something?”

“Not especially.” Steve answered honestly. “C’mon.” He inclined his head back up a few rows and waited on the end of the aisle for Bucky to shuffle in before him. They settled into the plastic seats which were just as uncomfortable as they always had been, and Bucky stole one of Steve’s fries, even though he had a whole portion of his own. Steve couldn’t bring himself to mind.

“I thought you’d have, like, a special box or something.” Bucky whispered to Steve, keeping his voice down for the benefit of the people around them; not that there were many. This section of the stands was usually fairly quiet. “Padded seats down behind the home plate at least.”

“I prefer it up here,” Steve shrugged, and stole one of Bucky’s fries in retaliation. Sure, they could have got better seats right down at pitch level, but then it became a whole _thing_ if he attended a match officially, with press photos and paparazzi; he much preferred sneaking up to the back to watch the game like he always used to.

But then again… Steve glanced nervously across at Bucky, suddenly second guessing himself for choosing these seats; worrying that Bucky might be disappointed. It had been Bucky’s idea to come and watch a game, after all, and Steve knew that wasn’t because Bucky had any interest in seeing the Yankees play. He began to panic, god, he was such an idiot. This was a _date_ , of course Bucky would have been expecting the all-star experience; Steve should have pulled out all of the stops and impressed Bucky with a private suite and a tour of the locker rooms or something.

Bucky didn’t look disappointed though, Steve thought as he searched Bucky’s face, looking for a clue of what to do next. It wasn’t too late; the first pitch hadn’t been thrown and there were always some empty seats in the legends suite if Bucky wanted to get a better view –

“Me too.” Bucky cut through Steve’s internal panic and flashed him a reassuring grin, bumping his knee against Steve’s.

“You’re not disappointed?” Steve clarified, willing himself to calm down.

_"Disappointed_?” Bucky snorted a laugh. “No? Course not.” He stole another fry and gave Steve a quizzical expression.

Steve’s panic drained away with relief. Of course, Bucky wouldn’t have cared about that. He seemed to like Steve (for unfathomable reasons) _despite_ the fact he’d played ball, certainly not because of it.

“You’re not upset I didn’t give you the grand tour?” He asked as he balanced his beer cup on the seat between his legs and propped the tray of fries on top, freeing up his arm so he could loop it around Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky settled against him and stole another handful of fries for good measure. “You can give me the _grand tour_ when we get home.” Bucky winked. Steve laughed, apparently there wasn’t anything that Bucky couldn’t turn into an innuendo.

=

The ceremonial first pitch was thrown by some local celebrity neither of them had heard of, and the game was on. It was slow to start with, still tied at zero apiece going into the fourth innings, but neither Steve nor Bucky were wholly focused on the game; too wrapped up in their conversation to really pay attention to what was happening on the pitch. Gradually the sun set behind them and cast the wisps of clouds ablaze in a fiery pink.

“I can see why you like it up here.” Bucky said as they watched the stadium get bathed in the warm glow of the sunset.

“I’ve always thought these were the best seats in the stadium.”

“I think the price tag on those one down behind the Home Plate would beg to differ.” Bucky smirked.

“Alright, the _best value_ seats, then.” Steve smiled back. “That’s what my ma always said, anyway.”

“Did you often watch games with her?”

“All the time.” Steve nodded, reminiscing about all the times they’d sat up in these seats, come rain or shine, and split a portion of fries between them. Well not these seats exactly, but the ones in the old stadium. Although the view and the atmosphere were similar enough to spark nostalgia. “I think that’s why I was so keen on the sport. She bought me a pair of binoculars for my birthday one year and I’d use them to try and lip read what the coach was saying.” He laughed. “We came as often as her shifts would allow.” Steve continued. “Sometimes even when she had work afterwards.” More than once Steve’s mother had made sure he got home safe after the match, leaving him in the care of their elderly next-door neighbour before she went immediately onto a shift. “I don’t know how she had the energy.”

“Mom’s are something else.” Bucky agreed. “I don’t know how Becca copes with Isaac twenty-four-seven. It wears me out just looking after him for an afternoon.”

“Right? Kids are exhausting. I’m so glad whenever I get to hand them all back to their parents after practise.” Steve laughed. “We should bring Isaac to a game sometime.” He added after a spell.

“Yeah? He’d love that.”

There were only a couple more Little League games in the season and after that Steve was going to have an awful lot more time on his hands – for a few weeks at least, until he opened the summer camp he ran on weekends during school holidays. In those free weeks he and Bucky already had plans for a paintball contest between Bucky’s friends and Steve’s, and Bucky had agreed to be Steve’s plus one at the annual barbeque his company held every summer. The casual way Bucky wasn’t afraid to make plans for weeks, or months, down the line made something burn bright in Steve’s chest.

“There’s an interleague game against the Reds at the end of June, isn’t there?” Steve nudged Bucky affectionately with his elbow. “Think he’d want to come and see that? So, he can witness his uncle’s terrible taste in teams first hand?”

“Yeah, well the Pinstripes aren’t exactly covering themselves with glory at the moment.” Bucky scoffed in return. But even as Bucky spoke, the clanging ring of a well-hit shot rang out around the stadium and the crowd began to holler and cheer as the batsman rounded second, then third and – the stadium erupted with noise – slid across fourth base for a homerun. Steve leapt to his feet to cheer along with everyone else, cupping his hand around his mouth to carry his shouts further.

“You were saying?” Steve grinned when he settled back into his seat.

Bucky shook his head. “One to nothing’s not exactly a score to be proud of.”

=

The game did pick up after that though, by the bottom of the sixth, the Yankees led the Astros 8-3, and Bucky was getting more and more invested in the game; clearly swayed by the atmosphere around him, and his inhibitions loosed by beer. They slipped back to the bar at the top of the seventh inning to load up on beers before last call, and by the time the floodlights were in full effect, they were both mildly tipsy, fully invested in the game, and more than a little handsy.

They were sitting too far back to be picked up by the kiss cam, but whenever it scanned across the crowd Bucky took it as his cue to kiss Steve anyway, making Steve laugh every time. They kept their kisses short and sweet, both very aware of the families sitting around them, and well-practised at stealing affection from each other whilst surrounded by seven-year-olds and their dislike of any sort of romance. But when the final hit of the game went sailing out towards the stands, bringing the final score to 10-4, Bucky leapt to his feet beside Steve, whooping and cheering along with everyone else. Swept up with the adrenaline rush of a victory, Steve pulled Bucky in for a kiss that was anything but chaste. A few wolf-whistles went up around them, and when Bucky broke off, breathless, he laughed at Steve before throwing both arms around Steve’s neck and kissing him again just as hard.

They let the stadium empty around them, neither of them in a particular rush. Bucky was working an afternoon shift at the garage and Steve’s job didn’t really care what time he got there as long it was before 10am and he completed all of his projects on time. With less people milling around, and in too good of a mood to care if he got stopped for photos, Steve walked Bucky around the other side of the stadium to stare up at the ridiculously large banner of him that fluttered from the ceiling. It was a giant version of his baseball card, with Steve looking young and care-free, his bat slung over his shoulder and a bright-eyed smile on his face. As promised, Bucky took a number of selfies with the banner in the background, before dragging Steve in with him and posing to take a few more shots as he planted a kiss on Steve’s cheek.

“That’s gonna be my new lock screen, for sure.” Bucky grinned at the picture. He tapped around on his phone and then waved it in front of Steve’s face; sure enough, Steve was greeted with the snap of them kissing. Steve looked horribly embarrassed, blushing behind his beard as Bucky smushed his face against Steve’s. The photo had caught him smiling into Steve’s neck rather than kissing him, a lock of hair had fallen from Bucky’s cap and the look on Bucky’s face was one of pure happiness. It made Steve’s heart thump heavily in his chest.

“You’ll have to send that to me.” He managed to ask.

“Sure.”

Moments later Steve’s phone buzzed in his pocket and Steve leant in to kiss Bucky again.

=

They were eventually ushered out by weary looking security guards, but rather than joining the queues heading to the subway, Steve flagged down a taxi on the street corner.

“Your place or mine?” He asked as he held the door open for Bucky.

“Ooh, I vote yours. Are you finally gonna let me see your house?” Bucky grinned at Steve.

It hadn’t been intentional, just the way things had worked out meant they’d always ended up back at Bucky’s place, and Bucky had started teasing Steve about not being allowed to see his home.

“I bet it’s because your taste in interior design is just as bad as your taste in cars.” Bucky laughed at him. “You’re too embarrassed to let me see it. Or is it because it’s this huge penthouse apartment you bought with your baseball millions and you don’t want to show off after seeing my tiny, crappy little place?”

Steve ignored him and gave the cab driver the address for his place, effectively silencing Bucky’s taunts.

“It’s the second one isn’t it?” Bucky pressed. “I bet it’s straight out of the pages of a home décor magazine.”

“It’s just an apartment.” Steve assured Bucky. Although it was in a nicer building than Steve had ever hoped to be able to afford in his youth, and you could fit the apartment he’d grown up in with his ma comfortably inside his current place, about three times over and still have room to spare. But compared to the mansions some of his team mates had bought, and compared to some of the glass and chrome behemoth apartments many of his colleges owned now, it really wasn’t anything to write home about. “And your place isn’t crappy.” Bucky’s place might have been small, but it was cleverly laid out, and everything, from the navy-blue colour of the walls to the engine parts being used as bookends on his bookshelf, the potted plants on his kitchen windowsill and the classic movie posters framed above his bed, oozed ‘Bucky’. Steve almost preferred it to his apartment for that reason alone.

Bucky chose to ignore that last comment and pressed himself up close against Steve’s side in the back of the taxi. “So, you really are going to give me the _grand tour_?” He smirked. “You really will be _sliding home_ tonight.”

Bucky’s puns had been terrible to begin with, and they were only getting worse. Steve secretly loved every single one of them though.

“I’m amazed you haven’t run out of those yet.”

“Run out?” Bucky grinned and Steve belatedly realised he’d only set Bucky up for another stream of them. “I’ll never _run out_ , home run every time, baby.” Bucky beamed.

“Yeah, sure.” Steve gave an exasperated sigh to hide the pure affection in his voice and leant over to give Bucky a kiss; putting Bucky’s mouth to better use. He plucked the Yankees cap off Bucky’s head and finally got his hands in Bucky’s hair, carding through his soft waves as he pulled Bucky close.

“I slam ‘em out of the park,” Bucky murmured against Steve’s mouth mid-kiss.

“I’ll slam _you_ out of the park.” Steve practically growled back, making Bucky light up with delight.

“That’s the spirit.”

=

“Holy shit, this is not _just an apartment_.” Bucky gaped as the taxi pulled up practically underneath the Manhattan bridge. Steve paid the cab driver – as well as giving him a generous tip for putting up with their backseat canoodling – and grabbed Bucky’s hand so he could drag him across the street and into the remodelled warehouse that housed his apartment.

“Good evening, Steve.”

“Hi, Freddie,” Steve greeted the concierge as they headed across the lobby to the elevators.

“You have a fucking _concierge_.” Bucky muttered under his breath. Steve just gripped Bucky’s hand tighter as they waited for the elevator, trying not to comment. If Bucky was impressed by the concierge, then Steve didn’t know how he was going to react to the rest of the place.

It had been home for so long that Steve took the place for granted, but as the elevator opened up onto the top floor, Steve tried to remember what it had felt like the first time he’d stepped across the threshold and seen the exposed brick walls, the iron girders he was pretty sure had been added for artistic effect rather than structural necessity, and best of all, the floor to ceiling windows looking out over the Manhattan Bridge in one direction, and the Brooklyn Bridge in the other. Both bridges were lit up with lights trailing along their cables, and the Manhattan skyline twinkled in the distance. Steve had lost many hours sitting in front of that view.

“I can’t believe you live here.” Bucky said in a daze.

“C’mon, I’ll show you the best bit.”

“There’s more?”

Steve pushed open one of the windows revealing a sliding door that opened out onto a small terrace. It wasn’t large, but a private outdoor space with a view like that was worth more than its weight in gold. Steve had filled it with a low table, two rattan loveseats set facing each other and an assortment of leafy potted plants that thankfully looked after themselves (the only green thumbs he’d ever had came from grass stains off a baseball).

He stepped out onto the terrace behind Bucky and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist, propping his chin over Bucky’s shoulder as they both stared and admired the view for a minute. The night air felt brisk and a faint breeze carried the briny, coastal smell of the east river to them.

“I hope you know this means I’m moving in.” Bucky joked and sunk back against Steve’s chest with a sigh. “I could just sit up here forever.”

“Yeah, it gets pretty hypnotic sometimes.” Even at the late hour cars were passing over the bridges; streaks of red and white crossing each other like fireflies on urgent business.

“I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me, Rogers. All this time we’ve been in my shitty place and we could have been _here_. Slugger.” He said it like an insult, but one meant affectionately.

“Well maybe I liked your place, grease monkey.” Steve playfully insulted back.

Which of course led to Bucky squirming around to face him and grinning up with a smug grin. “I’ll grease _your_ monkey.”

“Oh my god.” Steve shook his head and laughed until Bucky began to press kisses against his open mouth. His nimble fingers began to tackle the buckle on Steve’s belt, as Steve pushed Bucky’s jacket off his shoulders to better mouth against his neck and collarbones. But as the night air nipped at their skin, they quickly realised it was too cold to let things go any further outside, and raced each other back towards Steve’s bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing in their wake.

Bucky displayed an admirable dedication to baseball terminology, running his mouth off with senseless innuendos that got more and more tenuous the more wrecked he became. Steve considered it a point of pride when he turned Bucky into a puddle of mush incapable of stringing two words together that weren’t _Steve_ and _please_. Though his victory was short lived, because as soon as Bucky came down from the high of his orgasm, he sleepily groped Steve’s softening cock and mumbled into Steve’s neck, “you know what they say – if you build it, he will _come_.” Simultaneously flooding Steve with a rush of tenderness, and ruining a line from one of his favourite films. Steve huffed a laugh and planted a kiss on Bucky's forehead.

“How long have you been waiting to use that one?” he asked softly, but Bucky had already fallen fast asleep.

=

Steve loved waking with the dawn so the drapes in his bedroom were purposefully thin to let golden light spill into the room. It washed over the bed, basking Bucky’s bare shoulders in a warm glow; contouring every dip and swell of his smooth biceps, and outlining the plump swell of his naked ass as he sprawled on top of Steve. Steve traced a delicate finger lightly across Bucky’s back and pressed a kiss into the soft splay of Bucky’s hair. He lay in bed for far longer than he normally would have, simply admiring Bucky in all his unclothed splendour, before the constant re-snoozing of his alarm set Steve on edge and he had to extract himself for his morning run.

“I’ll be back soon.” He promised Bucky, bending over his still sleeping form to press a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Steve ran a shortened version of his usual route through Brooklyn Bridge Park, watching the sun light climb up the skyscrapers of the financial district before hurrying back to Bucky. He was flushed and sweaty, and a little out of breath, when he unlocked the door to his apartment and he had intended to take a shower before he woke Bucky up, but those plans were quickly derailed when he saw Bucky standing in the kitchen. Wearing nothing but Steve’s old baseball jersey.

“Morning.” Bucky glanced back over his shoulder with a coy smile that made Steve melt. His hair was pulled back in a bun, loose strands flicked across his forehead, and the dark blue of the pinstripes seemed to make his eyes pop. Steve stopped in the doorway and stared. No one had the right to look that good after they’d rolled out of bed, and the sight of him in Steve’s clothes – his jersey, no less – was doing things to Steve. Bucky was a little slimmer than Steve, and just a tad shorter, so the jersey hung off his shoulders and grazed the top of his thighs. His long legs were bare, hip cocked and thigh muscles beautifully on display. Steve couldn't be sure he was wearing anything underneath it at all.

“I’m making pancakes.” Bucky explained unnecessarily, titling the mixing bowl to show Steve. “Heeeeeeeey, batter, batter, batter, batter, _whisk_ , batter,” he sing-songed with a gleeful expression, making Steve wonder if that was the whole reason he was making pancakes. “Course not,” Bucky insisted when questioned. “I could have made waffles, or muffins, or any batter really,” he grinned. “I fancied pancakes.”

Steve laughed and finally made his way properly into the apartment, setting his keys and phone down on the counter and pulling out his airpods. Bucky went back to whisking up the batter, sashaying his hips and continuing to mutter, “whisk, batter, batter, whisk.” under his breath as he did.

“God, Bucky. You can’t just do that.”

“Do what?” he glanced back and Steve and fluttered his eyelashes with feigned innocence. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

“Wearing that jersey…” Steve floundered, trying to find the words to describe how hot Bucky looked in it, but he must have hesitated too long because Bucky suddenly looked nervous.

“Shit, should I not've worn it? I found it in the wardrobe –”

“No, no, course I don’t mind you wearing it.” Steve hastened to explain himself. “It’s just, _fuck_ , you look…” words couldn’t describe the complicated gymnastics his heart was currently performing as Steve tried to grapple with the sudden rush of affection for Bucky. “You can’t just strut around the place looking like that or else I’m gonna fall in love with you.” He laughed, exasperated with himself.

“Well,” Bucky placed the bowl of batter on the kitchen counter and carefully wiped his hands on a dishtowel. “Then I hope you’re as good in the outfield as you are a batsman.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m definitely falling for you, and you’d better catch me.” Bucky finished in a soft voice, sidling right up to Steve.

“You really do have a pun for every occasion, don’t you?” Steve brushed the loose strands of Bucky’s hair back and stared down at him lovingly.

“Yep.” Bucky said with pride. “Because I’m so witty,” he looked smug, “ _and pretty, and gaaay_!” He sang with a high trill that tailed off into a giggle.

“I love you.” Steve said in a rush. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

Any hopes Steve had of making it to work on time quickly fell by the wayside. He hoisted Bucky off his feet in one clean move and started marching him towards the bedroom. Bucky wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist instinctively, giving a surprised chuckle as he did.

“What about the pancakes?”

“They’ll keep.” Steve replied on an exhale between kisses. “This won’t.” He kissed Bucky with ardour, hungry for every inch of him. For once, Bucky didn’t have any clever puns as Steve dropped him on the bed and began to devour him, rucking the jersey up over Bucky’s chest so he could lap at Bucky’s nipples and pepper his stomach with kisses. 

Afterwards, they sat sprawled on the terrace, eating pancakes and enjoying the warmth of a sunny, spring day. Steve had begged the morning off work, citing a dentist appointment he’d forgotten about, and Bucky expertly turned out a mountain of pancakes for both of them, topped with a generous helping of strawberries, blueberries, whipped cream, _and_ syrup. Clearly, he and Isaac shared a penchant for too many toppings, though Bucky always tried to act like a responsible uncle and limit Isaac’s sugar intake whenever they went for waffles after a game. Consolation waffles with the pair of them had become one more thing for Steve to love about his Saturday mornings. One day they might even be celebratory waffles, and Steve knew his Saturdays would be complete. 

“Don’t tell Isaac.” Bucky had said secretively as he handed Steve his plate.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Steve assured him.

Bucky was still wearing only Steve’s baseball jersey, and he settled sideways on the loveseat, facing Steve with his legs thrown across Steve’s lap. His hair was rucked and mussed and warmth flooded Steve’s chest whenever Bucky smiled at him.

“You sure you don’t mind me wearing this?” Bucky asked, sounding disproportionately bashful considering everything Steve had just done to him in that jersey. 

“Mind?” Steve laughed. “If it were up to me, you’d never wear anything else.” He couldn’t pinpoint what it was about seeing Bucky wearing his jersey that kicked his arousal into overdrive (he hoped it wasn’t anything overly narcissistic), and maybe he should have minded that Bucky had gone snooping through his wardrobe to find it – it wasn’t like Steve kept it out on display anywhere – but Steve was just happy that Bucky had felt at home enough to do that.

“I wasn’t looking for it.” Bucky added, “I just wanted to borrow a shirt. But when I found it…” he wagged his eyebrows.

“You couldn’t resist.” Steve finished for him. “Never thought I’d see the day when you deigned to wear a Yankees jersey.”

“But it’s _yours_ so it doesn’t count.” Bucky protested. “Think I could wear it to the next game?”

Steve’s heart swelled at the promise of watching another game together, and he grinned. “We might need to dry clean it first.” He laughed. Bucky kicked him affectionately in the thigh before he dug back into his pancakes. 

“Why 45? I meant to ask before.” Bucky asked around a strawberry.

Steve shovelled his last mouthful of pancake into his mouth and shrugged. “It was my ma’s lucky number. I wore it in college and it served me well, so I kept it.”

“There a reason it was lucky, or did she just like it?”

Steve leant over Bucky’s legs to place his plate back on the coffee table and began to absently stroke Bucky’s ankle as he remembered his ma’s explanation. “Couple of reasons. Her birthday was April 5th, and…it was the seat she was sitting in when she met my dad.” He said. “And the seats they always sat in for the games they went to after that.” He wondered if Bucky would pick-up on the fact that Steve had chosen the same seats for them the day before.

“They met at a Yankees game?”

“Yep.”

“That is the cutest thing.”

“I always thought so.” Steve brushed his thumb around the circular bone of Bucky’s ankle, hesitating over the next part; he didn’t want to ruin the mood of their beautiful morning. “I always wonder what he would’ve thought, if he knew I went on to play for them.” He said eventually, in a low voice. He glanced up and fixated on the Brooklyn Bridge ahead, watching a pair of seagulls soar above the stone towers, continuing to trace the bones in Bucky’s foot with gentle caresses. It was always a sore topic, one he was surprised hadn’t come up between them yet.

“What happened to him?”

“He died before I was born.” Steve hoped Bucky wouldn’t press for the specifics.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m sure he would have been proud of you.”

Steve dipped his head and smiled. When it brought it back up it was to look at Bucky. There was no pity in Bucky’s eyes, just a loving and encouraging smile on his face. “That’s what my ma always said.” Steve agreed.

“She must have been so proud of you too.”

“She was.”

“Hell, _I’m_ proud of you.” Bucky added with a mischievous grin. “Even if it was for the Damn Yanks. They can’t even get their jerseys right. Y’know?”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re meant to have the player's name across the back. It sucks that this one doesn’t say ROGERS across the shoulders.”

“Why’s that?”

“To let everyone know I’m yours.” Bucky grinned.

Steve’s heart soared. “Are you?” He managed to ask.

“For as long as you want me, Rogers.”

The clouds parted and sun shone down on the terrace, bathing them both in a bright golden light. Or maybe it just felt like that as love exploded from Steve’s chest. “Always, Buck. Always.”

Bucky shoved his plate onto the coffee table and swung his legs round so he was straddling Steve. “Good, because I love you, Steve Rogers – _sports_ and all.” He laughed and kissed Steve, looking delighted with his godawful pun.

Steve groaned into the kiss. “That was terrible, Bucky.”

“All’s fair in _glove_ and war.” Bucky smirked in response.

“Terrible, terrible, terrible.” Steve said in between kisses.

“You still love me, though right?”

“’Course I do. Puns and all.” Steve returned with a bright smile.

Bucky snorted against Steve’s jaw. “Swing and a miss there, Steve. Maybe leave the witticisms up to me.”

“Jerk.” Steve said fondly.

“Punk. Say it again?”

“What?”

“That you love me.”

“I love you.” Steve returned easily. It was the easiest thing in the world to say and he meant it with all of his heart. He’d say it as often as Bucky needed to hear it. “I love, I love you, I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> (We couldn't think of a number that was partiularly associated with Steve, I was going to pick 44 becuase that's a traditional number for a 'power hitter' but the Yankees retied their #44 in 1993, so we went with 45 for 1945 and the WW2/ canon Steve connotations 😊😊)
> 
> I hope you liked it! Comments are always appreciated, and please make sure you like Nabu's art on [twitter](https://twitter.com/fadefilter) 💙💙💙
> 
> I love writing this series so much, so if you have any Coach Steve requests, please let me know! You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/astrobucky) / [Tumblr](https://trenchcoatsandtimetravel.tumblr.com/).


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